


Fight Club

by megyal



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Humor, M/M, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-06-28
Updated: 2006-06-28
Packaged: 2017-10-18 23:19:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/194390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/megyal/pseuds/megyal





	Fight Club

When you tell people that you and Patrick sometimes have "fights", they always give you guys looks of horror, as if you are some sort of trailer-trash destined for a Jerry Springer special. You laugh because you know that Patrick couldn't purposefully injure you even if he tried, and you would never hurt him (much)....and these people simply don't know that you're _always_ the instigator of these little throwdowns, because they have a few nice ways of turning out.

Like the one time you started flinging ice out of your finished soda at him. He flashed a look at you, and then that begun some sort of real-live version of the Road Runner and Wile E. Coyote, complete with him tripping over the rug as he chased you around the center table in the living room. After you slapped his hat off, he managed to stick his foot out to make you stumble and fall to the floor (you got a fine bruise on your elbow for that one). He snaked up to you super-fast, grabbed the cup, pulled up the neck of your t-shirt (it might have been his), and dumped the entire contents down your chest. You had screeched at the wet chilliness and kicked and bucked, but he had practically straddled you, that heavy bastard, and the bits of ice were just rolling all around.

"You BITCH!" You had yelled, and he leered, sticking his hand up the bottom of your shirt and fishing out some of the ice. He put this in his mouth and bent down quick to lick a cool line from that little dip in the center of your collarbone, straight up the center of your neck, to the the underside of your chin. You had been pommeling him in the ribs all during this chilly conquest of your neck (albeit weakly...while moaning), and he had kissed you, open and hard, passing that bit of ice to your mouth as he gave you some fierce pinches along your arms. Andy had seen the red pinch-spots later and wondered aloud if they were having some sort of mosquito invasion.

Or that one time you had decided to have a Karate Tournament and ended up with Patrick practically handing you your ass in his bedroom as you tried to pull the Crane move from that Karate Kid movie. As you had kicked out with one leg, he just grabbed it (he really had some surprisingly quick reflexes) and yanked, and you had hopped forward like a wounded bird to him. You put out your palms flat on his chest and pushed, both of you falling onto his bed, and that progressed quite nicely from a kickboxing fiasco, to his mouth and hands right where you wanted them.

Oh yeah, the epic light-sabre battle. Joe had bought two of those glow-in-the-dark toy sabres, and you both ran around pretending to be the Spaniard Inigo Montoya and Darth Vader all rolled into one. You thought you had him when you managed to send his sword clattering and he was pressed against the wall with the tip of your sabre at his throat. When you asked him about surrendering, he simply smiled slyly and asked just _when_ was it you were going to use your real sabre on him.

Naughty.

Maybe you both WERE destined for the Jerry Springer Show after all......


End file.
